


Our Turn

by von_gelmini, witchway



Series: Messages Interludes [3]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Armor Kink, Bondage, Established Relationship, Finger Sucking, Iron Man armor - Freeform, M/M, Tony Stark Still Has Arc Reactor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:07:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23816647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/von_gelmini/pseuds/von_gelmini, https://archiveofourown.org/users/witchway/pseuds/witchway
Summary: Cold metal fingers closed around his left wrist.Peter reacted instantly, yanking his wrist away.The suit moved with him, but did not release his wrist. Metal fingers closed over Peter’s right shoulder, pinning him down to the table.“Tony?” He asked, mildly alarmed.
Relationships: Iron Man Armor/Peter Parker, Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Series: Messages Interludes [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1691347
Comments: 10
Kudos: 106





	Our Turn

**Author's Note:**

> There was a post. It yielded this story. There’s not exactly spitroasting, but we hope it’ll fit the bill.
> 
> [itfeelssogoodmrstark](https://itfeelssogoodmrstark.tumblr.com/)  
> Can I get Peter being spitroasted by Tony and SIM!Tony. Or Tony and Tony’s Ironman suit, bye
> 
> * * *
> 
> This is a [Messages Interlude](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1691347) to the [Messages series](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1558027). The same versions of Peter & Tony as in those stories. But not a part of the run of the series. The Interludes are little bits of (usually) PWP written just for fun, because we can't get enough of this version of them.
> 
> Our Turn is a direct sequel to [ Your Turn](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22248400). It can, however, be read as a stand-alone Interlude.
> 
> * * *

‘What does _that_ feel like’ Peter had asked. When the question was posed, Tony simply answered with a smirk rather than an immediate demonstration. Leave the kid hanging. Leave him wondering _if_ it would happen. Leave him wondering _when_ it would happen. Leave him wondering ‘what does _that_ feel like’.

He’d answer the occasional question about the situation. Though never too detailed. The requests for details were met with that same knowing smirk.

“Bend me over a table first, Tony, I’ve never done it that way,” he whispered, more than once, when Tony headed them toward the bed, but Tony always managed to say no.

“Already shut the lab down for the night. Gonna have to wait a while longer,” Tony said, putting the question off again.

Another time when Peter had been asking questions again, in the middle of his unanswered questions, Peter suddenly stopped to ask, “Wait! Tony… what if I break the table?”

“That possibility has already been considered, Parker.”

Peter never gave up. But then maybe that was because it had been almost two weeks and it still hadn’t happened.

“So how much information does the suit actually _give_ you, other than what damage it’s taking? I mean I assume you don’t let it feed you information about _pain_ , that wouldn’t be helpful.”

“Actually, it’s very helpful. Lets you know how much damage and resistance is left. So yeah. Pain sensors are included. FRIDAY reports many different kinds of external sensations.

“ _Reports_ the sensations. So it’s not like you’re feeling them yourself.”

Tony gave a sideways shrug of his head. With a little shake or nod… it was hard to figure out which.

“So if you were blind, assuming you could be, could you feel your way through a tunnel? That’s a stupid question I guess you have other sensors.

“You could, like, pet a cat, and tell it was soft, or something?”

“What about hot and cold? I assume you don’t want to know how cold it is when you’re flying…”

Having answered one sensation question, none of the others were. Let the kid wonder exactly what ‘reports sensation’ might mean.

They were in the lab the next time it was mentioned. “You won’t have to be gentle, when you do it, you know. I’m not _really_ not a virgin this time…” Peter said with a wink.

“You’ll be in my lab, my lab table. I’ll be as gentle or as rough as I like.” But then, after having made it sound like it was about to happen, Tony opened a new project file and buried himself in the details of it, working until almost dawn.

After a week Peter asked the question one more time. They were in the shower before bed and he boldly turned his back to Tony, balanced himself against the wall and began to walk his hands down, utilizing his acrobatic skills and shamelessly presenting his ass. When he was at a perfect ninety degree angle he turned back and looked playfully over his shoulder. “You never bent me over the lab table, you know. And you _promised_.”

The sex was good that night, but no more mention of the table was had. Peter turned it over in his mind after Tony had fallen asleep. Was it possible he was being annoying? Tony never seemed unhappy with his questions, but he also never offered to do the specific thing Peter was asking for. He didn’t like asking Tony for things more than once (and in bed he _never_ had to ask twice.) Either Tony was on board with something, or he wasn’t, and if he wasn’t, Peter let it drop. Maybe sex-over-a-table was something Tony had in the past and didn’t enjoy? He was _well_ aware that Tony had very specific opinions about angles and sex. And being a _good_ lover, well, that had always been Tony’s top priority. In any case, Peter wasn’t going to nag.

He _was_ a little disappointed about the table, however. Tony was his first and only lover, and if _Tony_ never fucked him over a lab table, no one would.

No more questions had been asked for almost three days. No assumptions put forth. No teasing. Peter did tend to have a little sad puppy face, though, when he would look over at the table Tony was using to poke around at a bit of holographic projection.

He was working on a holographic wireframe of the suit, down near where the boot’s foot joined the leg. It was enlarged to see the details. But apparently not enlarged enough. Tony looked over at the workstation they’d set up for Peter to do his school experiments on.

“Pete, can you get your hand into this wireframe, right about here?” Tony asked, pointing to a narrow opening in the design that was low, close to the table.

Peter squeezed in between him and the hologram. Did he push his ass against his lover, just a little bit? No of course he didn’t. Okay maybe a little. The hour was getting late, after all.

“Tease. We’re working. I need your hand in this bit here,” Tony said, pointing over to the left side, making Peter need to turn his head in that direction, almost tilted upside down looking up at a joint just out of reach.

“If you move in from the front with your right hand… no… like this.” He put his hand on Peter’s right wrist, moving it into position.

Cold metal fingers closed around his left wrist.

Peter reacted instantly, yanking his wrist away and attempting to jump into a more defensive position (usually when he was attacked it was from the north-eastern corner of the room. He never knew why. But over the years, no matter how much he had changed, he still preferred to observe before attacking.)

The suit moved with him, but did not release his wrist. Metal fingers closed over Peter’s right shoulder, pinning him down to the table.

“Tony?” He asked, mildly alarmed. He had heard of, but never witnessed, the suit attacking when it mistook a Tony-nightmare for an attack, and the story of Rhodey’s hacked-suit was legendary.

“Yeah?” Tony asked as he reached to the front of Peter’s pants, giving a hard pull on either side of the button and zipper, popping one and tearing the other. Another quick tug and the jeans were tangled around Peter’s ankles.

“Tone— oh… _**oh** …”_

Boxers found their way to the floor next, leaving Peter’s ass exposed to the cool air of the room. The suit’s hand moved from Peter’s wrist to his other shoulder.

Peter’s brain put two and two together rather quickly. His body, on the other hand, seemed satisfied with gaping, his eyes as wide as saucers, his heart pounding so hard he could hear it. One hand was still on the table, held there with an iron grip. His other arm flailed about for purchase, but he was unable to rise enough to find it. The suit’s second hand was holding him down to the table, and suddenly he found himself panicking and he cried out…

“Tony? _Tony?!_ I’ll _**break** the table_!”

Tony chuckled. “Don’t you think that someone with a vibranium-reinforced bed would’ve already thought about that possibility?

“You’re going exactly nowhere that I don’t want you to go.”

“But… wait, the _table_? When did you… oh god…” Even as his brain calculated calmly (Tony’s putting him off constantly, Tony getting the table installed, Tony’s ruse with the wireframe, _damn_ that man was good), his body continued to behave as if he were in a fight. His free arm found its way around and now he had the suit’s wrist in his grip… oh god, was he really _wrestling with the suit?_ While _naked?_ This was some strange fantasy-turned-wet-dream come true. If only he could _stop fighting,_ but his body didn’t seem to be taking orders. He didn’t _want_ to get free, after all… he had been waiting for this for _so damn long._ His legs, at least, were obeying — as long as he didn’t engage _those_ muscles he could cooperate. Could stay obediently in this position and let Tony fuck him hard just like they had planned. If only Tony would give him a little bit of time to adjust…

Peter felt a pair of flat-bottomed scissors at the hem of his shirt and as Tony moved his hand up Peter’s back, his shirt began to be cut away. Straight up over his spine, then down each sleeve, until it lay on the table loose under him. A tug from Tony’s hand pulled the cut fabric away.

Tony gave a kick to one of Peter’s ankles, spreading his legs wide to one side, untangling his pants at the same time, leaving Peter completely naked.

“ _No_ Tony please!”

“No?” Tony asked skeptically. A metal cuff emerged from the table leg and closed around Peter’s ankle.

His yelp would have been a scream but he didn’t have enough air. Oh this was bad. This was _very_ bad.

The knock against his leg had sent it into fight-mode and the cuff just made it worse. Now his brain AND body were creating joint plans. Vibranium or no vibranium, the weakest joint of the table was easily within reach and the suit wasn’t even TRYING to secure _that_ hand and that table leg would make _an_ excellent weapon no wait he didn’t want to _wield a weapon, he’d kill Tony!_

While Peter was struggling with his right ankle, it meant his left was holding himself upright. Which meant that it took Tony barely a push to knock the kid off balance and finish spreading his legs wide, the other ankle cuffed to the other leg of the table. Which took away any leverage Peter could achieve — wait, did he actually start to _bend_ the middle of the vibranium table leg!?

Peter closed his eyes tight and squeezed down on the suit’s wrist and he _tried_ to focus. He wanted this, had wanted this since the first time it had occurred to his little horny adolescent brain that being fingered by the suit would be so much hotter than playing with a sex-toy.

It didn’t work. Nothing was working, and his heart was hammering so hard he was afraid it would dent the table…

That gave him an idea.

“I’m caught between an Iron Man suit and a vibranium table, and I’m going to break one of them, Tony. Which one’s cheaper?”

That was good. That was like the banter he usually had with the bad guys, the kind that kept it light and reminded everyone there were non-violent ways out of the encounter. Reminding his body he wasn’t really in any danger.

“Out of date Mark. The 47. I built it able to withstand the shield, but go right ahead kid. Give it your best shot.”

Sending up a prayer that the table wouldn’t break (he had been looking forward to being taken while bent over a table for _so_ long!) he strained to lift his right hand, lifting both it and the suit. An inch and a half off the table. There was no advantage of course, he was just making a point.

“I _don’t_ want to break your suit, old man. It will hurt your feelings… _wait…”_

He managed to turn his head and feign a look back in Tony’s direction (all a ruse, he just needed to buy time. Still, it was working.)

 _“Where_ is your headset?”

“In my body. Haven’t needed that since the Mark 50. Of course I coded it to react with _any_ of the old suits. Never know when you might need one to pin a little Spiderling to a table,” Tony said with a smug grin. One-handed, he pulled his t-shirt over his head by the back of its collar and tossed it away.

Tony’s snark was exactly what he needed. He could banter with Tony all day, it was second nature. Now, moving to turn his head felt less panicky. If only his heart would stop pounding…

“It’s heavy…” he said lifting his right hand off the table again, only by an inch, just to prove he could. _Knowing_ that helped a little too. “How much does it weigh again?”

“Not much at all. Only twenty-five pounds,” Tony said, pushing Peter’s wrist back down to the table.

“Oh… _bad_. Breakable. Damn Tony you should have broken out those _real_ old-fashioned ones… those big clunker ones, those before-I-was-born ones… I’m an old-fashioned kind of guy.” This was working. Pushing the suit and being pushed back was less like an attack and more like bedplay. He turned his head again and tried to concentrate on the suit’s wrist in his grip. He tried to stop squeezing, stopped trying to dig his fingers in to dent it, and tried to concentrate on the feel of it under his hand. _This was the suit,_ and Peter had fantasized about it for _so long._ If only he could keep Tony talking…

“You were born before all of them. Even the Mark 1. Besides, the Mark 2 only weighed about thirty-five. Miniaturized tech. Composite alloys. Fancy stuff that they don’t teach kids about.” Tony popped open the button on his jeans and slid the zipper down. He let his pants fall down over his hips and stepped out of them.

“Is that all the fight you have in you, Parker?” Tony said with a smirk when Peter looked back at him again. Something cold and wet trickled down the crack of Peter’s ass and dripped off of the tip of his cock onto the floor.

“Fight it? I was hoping it would fuck me first.”

Peter heard the sound of two quick, sharp taps from behind him. Immediately he recognized the sound — Tony was engaging the arc reactor, but why? Now there was an almost silent whisper of metal on metal, something Peter’s spidersenses heard clearly, but Peter didn’t understand.

Until he felt the metal finger. _There._

“Gotta open you up first before _I_ fuck you.” More lube running down. Followed by something hard and dry and _large_ teasing around his opening.

It was the last thing Peter had expected, and did _nothing_ to convince his body he wasn’t in mortal danger.

He lifted his right hand from the table, not to get free but to interact, again, with this second lover, to think about those second pair of hands as Tony’s hands. Moving the hand gave him an idea. He began struggling with his right hand, just enough to keep the suit occupied, but not enough to remind his body he was in panic mode. Then, using the suit’s grip to pull against, _jerked_ his body sharply to the right, sliding the suit’s hand with him.

He was still pinned to the table, but now he could turn his head and look directly into the suit’s face. The face of his dreams. The face of his most secret, never-confessed fantasies. (He might as well look at the suit-face. It felt, for the moment, that he _was_ being fucked by it.)

Peter felt Tony’s right hand tighten just a little on his hip and the suit’s right hand pressed harder down on his wrist with a mechanical whir. A sound he’d heard before. The suit’s grip was applying power to hold him in place. and Peter’s traitorous brain made some quick calculations against his will. He had always assumed the suits were packing more punch than the Winter Soldier’s arm (after all the suit had _two_ arms, and the assassin only had one) and for a moment it flashed across his mind that he might not have to worry about breaking the suit at all.

Not that it mattered. He had his face exactly where he wanted it now, and he was grinning. Feeling Tony’s hand tighten on his body was all he needed to remind himself where he was and why he was there.

He was more in control now — he hadn’t caught his breath and his heart was still pounding but suddenly he realized that was okay too. Tony could fuck him if he was breathless. Tony could fuck him with his heart pounding. It had been a very, very long time since he’d felt this sensation with Tony, this butterflies-on-crack sensation, but dammit, he _had_ felt this way before before. And he remembered enjoying it.

“Please tell me I’m getting fucked by the suit tonight,” he managed, with what air he had. He couldn’t sound bold so he just grinned and hoped that would suffice. _“Please_ tell me that’s why you chose this one… that this is the sex one.”

Tony pushed his smooth, nanotech finger inside Peter. “I told you, no one but me gets to fuck you.” He didn’t move his finger in and out, but instead moved it in a circle, pushing against Peter’s rim, stretching him wider.

“Jealous. You can’t even share me with your suit?” Peter began, but his words died in his mouth when he realized what Tony was doing.

“Jealous,” Tony confirmed. “Baby, I don’t even share you with myself.”

With the tech around it, his one finger was as thick as two would’ve been. “You’re so tight. Feel warm. Never did tell you what I meant by ‘reporting’, did I. Don’t need FRIDAY to do that for me.”

“…oh Tony,” Peter moaned. He tried to clamp down his mouth on the words but it was too late. He didn’t want to stop the banter just yet. _Dammit_ the banter was the only thing he could control!

“Just how many nights did little Peter Parker stare up at that poster jerking off and imagine…” a second finger slid in next to the first “…the suit inside of him.”

He wanted to answer, to open his eyes again, wanted to smile up at the suit and flirt with it, wanted to make some comment about a gang-bang and something about ‘inappropriateuse of Stark Tech’. But Tony was fingering him (and Tony could finger him better than most men could fuck) and more importantly, Tony was _fingering him with the tech._ Just the idea left Peter breathless. Tony had said something, had fed him a line, was waiting for a reply. But right now Peter was just trying not to whimper.

Two fingers were thick. But then, without a third added, they somehow became thicker. Almost as thick as Tony’s cock. He felt the smooth texture of the nanotech and his eyes went wide when he realized it was growing inside him. Somewhere a quiet part of his brain congratulated Tony on utilizing his expert knowledge of Peter’s body to create the perfect sex toy.

The rest of his brain, unfortunately, was headed right back into fight mode. He could just _feel_ the quiet part of his mind sadly waving goodbye.

He couldn’t stop. He began to struggle helplessly with the hand holding him down. Trying to use the suit’s grip to pull himself further to the right no longer worked — the suit was wise to that move — and fighting the leg restraints only brought his predicament more sharply into focus. He could probably take the table apart, or at least rearrange the shape, but _then what?_ He would still have the suit on top of him, and he was finally beginning to realize there wasn’t much he could do about that.

The two thickened fingers curled down and found the sensitive place inside Peter. And didn’t stop. Not when Peter started whimpering. Not when Peter started panting. Not even when Peter fell into his ‘ohgodTony’ moans.

But then the sounds Peter made went from moans into a hiss. His hips were twisting away from Tony’s fingers and he was fighting against the suit in earnest now, his face in a grimace. Now his teeth were clenched and he wasn’t pushing his hand up in the suit’s grip, he was trying to wrench free, his left foot sometimes struggling against the restraints and pulling up the leg of the table, sometimes flexing in the other direction, as if trying to push the table leg back into shape.

Tony didn’t remove his fingers but held them still. His other hand settled low on Peter’s back, spread wide, warm, solid. “Baby, shhh, shhh. Don’t hurt yourself. You can’t break free on your own. _It’s impossible._ But all you have to do is tell me _plainly_ to stop. And I will stop. Then tell me which thing to stop. Tell me what you need, Peter.” Tony waited for Peter to be able to answer. “I’ll do whatever you need.”

Peter forced himself to freeze. Freeze and breathe. That meant breathing through clenched teeth, breathing while he moaned, but it was a start. He concentrated on Tony’s hand touching his back. If he had a hand free he would have reached for it. But without that, he had to speak.

“Just keep touching me,” he whispered. Whimpered. He hated the sound of his broken voice, hated the fact that he was begging, hated the humiliation he felt when he heard how small and broken he sounded. Still, Tony responded immediately.

Tony ran his hand down from the edge of his suit’s hand on Peter’s shoulder all the way back down to the center of his lower back and held it there. “You have me. It’s all me, baby, except on your ankles. Do you need that released? Because that’s the only part touching you that isn’t me. I can feel you twice on my hands. Where my forearm is resting across your shoulders, I can feel the warmth of your body even if it feels to you that my arm that isn’t touching you anywhere.

Breathing was becoming easier. Tony’s voice made it easier, and the suit hadn’t moved at all when Tony started talking. As he spoke, the presence of his words made Peter’s body relax in ways his own brain simply couldn’t. It was still in fight mode, but now it seemed to be in fight-WITH-Tony mode and that was far better considering the man’s fingers were in his ass.

“Keep your legs still, baby.”

“I _can’t_ Tony…”

The Mark 42, his rebuilt Prodigal Son, stepped away from the wall. At the sound of its footsteps Peter shivered, until it dropped down to its knees and crawled underneath the table. Each hand wrapped around Peter’s lower calf.

“I’m touching you there. I can feel the strain of your muscles. You’re so strong.” The table’s restraints released and the suit’s hands moved to replace them.

“Better, baby?

“I _c… I can’t…_ I… it’s just… I need…” He panted and tried again.

“Your face,” Peter said finally, and when he spoke, he was calm. He swallowed hard, but as he said it, he relaxed a little, knowing how true it was. It was something he needed, and Tony would give him what he needed. “It’s your face, I can’t see your face. I need to see _you_.”

The Mark 47 moved its grip from Peter’s shoulder to pressing firmly but gently between his shoulder blades. Peter was still pinned, but if he turned his head, he could see Tony standing behind him.

“I’m right here, Pete. I’m pretty much everywhere,” he said with a little smile. “And I can feel you everywhere I’m touching you.”

“That doesn’t feel like your fingers.”

“It feels like your ass,” he said with a smirk. “Tight and hot and pulsing around me. I can feel you everywhere at least a little, but the nanotech transmits _every_ sensation if I want it to.”

“Can you feel this?” Peter asked, reaching back to grip, again, the wrist that was pinning him down. He also flexed against the other hand holding his wrist, not to break free, but to feel it move with him. The way Tony and he moved together in bed.

“Um hmm. I feel two touches on each of _my_ wrists. You’re holding the one with your hand and the other you’re pushing up on. I could tell that with my eyes closed.”

“And you can feel this?” Peter asked, moving his legs in the grip of the second suit, even though Tony had already told him. This was so much better, feeling the six hands on him, and while his heart was still pounding in anticipation of what was to come, he felt safer, more grounded Tony was holding him with three pairs of hands. He felt less like a trapped animal, more like the center of attention. Like something precious.

As Peter tested the way he was being held, each hand gripped in response to his movement. When he pushed his ass back against Tony’s fingers, tightening and loosening around the nanotech, Tony slid them deeper inside. “Greedy,” he teased.

“Always,” Peter answered automatically, but he was still taking stock. As long as he kept moving, kept telling himself ‘Three pairs of hands, he’s making love to me with three pairs of hands’, he might be all right.

The fingers inside him didn’t even feel invasive now, although he still longed to feel Tony’s actual fingers on him. He flexed against the other four hands holding him down, reminding himself of their weight, of their force. He couldn’t stop himself. As sweet as Tony’s voice sounded his head just wouldn’t stop calculating. But they weren’t just binding, they were Tony _touching_ him, and _that_ wasn’t something he wanted to control. That was something he wanted to keep.

“Still only counts as lust though.” Tony moved his nanite covered fingers in and out, spreading them wider.

“Shhhhh… don’t list your sins around the suits.”

He slowly closed his other hand, the warm one, around Peter’s cock, and crooked his fingers again, but only as he pushed in, not when he pulled them back, massaging.

“Was listing yours. FRIDAY doesn’t know what a naughty, messy boy you can be.”

“ _Ohno **don’t** TonyI…_ oh… do you _want_ me to…?“

“Do I want you to make a mess on my lab table?”

Peter could only whimper in response, gooseflesh breaking out all over his body. His eyes were closed again and he felt close to tears. He would have turned his face away to hide it in the table the way he used to hide it in the bed. But Tony had trained him better than that. He lay his face flat on the cool surface of the table and pushed his body towards Tony’s fingers as best he could.

Tony’s hand stopped stroking Peter’s shaft and instead, palmed the dripping precome over the head until he felt the kid right on the edge. He let go of his cock. And retracted the nanotech from around his fingers. Leaving only warmth inside of him. Warm fingers who knew exactly where all of Peter’s most sensitive areas were _aside_ from the obvious.

“Go on, baby. Make my workstation messy. I wanna remember what it looks like with your come dripping down it every time I look at it.”

That warmth, the warmth of Tony’s real fingers, were all he really needed. Then Tony’s words sent him completely over the edge. That quiet, logical part of his brain marked the occasion. Usually it took a bit of serious pounding before Tony could make him come on command, but this? This was a completely different level. He shouted as he came, his fingers digging into the suit arm’s wrist that was holding him down.

He wondered vaguely if he left marks on it.

Before Peter finished coming. Before the after-quakes even set in, Tony slowly pushed in, feeling him part around him despite how his coming made him want to close up. Peter hadn’t gone down when Tony started fucking him in long, slow, steady strokes.

Peter relaxed completely, floating on sensation. Tony had three pairs of hands holding him and right now it felt like heaven. His mouth hung open helplessly.

The suit’s fingers could move gently as well as hold tightly. The hand moved from between Peter’s shoulder blades, the kid was so relaxed, he wouldn’t be able to struggle. Tony ran that hand through Peter’s sweat soaked hair. He caressed down the side of Peter’s face, cupping his cheek. Then traced the edges of Peter’s flushed red lips with a metal fingertip.

Both of _his_ hands held Peter’s hips as he kept fucking him. The Mark 42's hands left Peter’s ankles and slid up the inside of his legs until they were holding his thighs gently parted so Tony could get inside deeper. He heard Peter whimper and saw him flinch, but he didn’t stop them. Instead of holding apart, putting force there, the suit’s hands gently massaged Peter’s quivering muscles, strained from being held down to the table legs.

Tony started fucking faster, but just as steady. Leaving Peter’s unconscious senses able to anticipate him. “Baby, you’re being so good for us.”

Peter’s eyes went wide at the idea. Being ‘good’ for Tony was all he wanted in these moments. The words lit up every body in his body. But being ‘good for _us?’_ He wasn’t sure if he was terrified or turned on to the power of three.

The suit’s fingers gently massaged up and then down Peter’s thighs. The fingers near his mouth pressed down on the swell of his bottom lip, parting them and teasing just a little, seeking entry. The hand holding his wrist stopped pinning to the table and closed around it, fingertips against his pulse. All the while Tony kept fucking Peter.

“That’s it, Pete. Just like that. Let go. Give it to me. _All_ of me. Everywhere.”

Peter moaned. Tony’s cock inside him was amazing, of course, but just at this moment he was moaning in exquisite relief.

In simpler times, when Tony had him like this, disobedience to Tony’s commands was almost impossible. Tony had told him to relax, and so he did. And just like that, his body agreed to stop fighting. It was still _calculating…_ Tony hadn’t ordered him to stop thinking after all… but for the moment his heart stopped pounding and his lungs were filling with blissful, heavenly oxygen.

He was also vaguely aware that there were now fingers in his mouth, but that was hardly a problem.

Tony, fully in control of the Mark 47’s finger in Peter’s mouth, pressed down gently on the kid’s tongue, making him open wider. When he did, a second finger slipped in, then both moved out until only the first joint was in Peter’s mouth, avoiding choking or too much pressure. Just enough that Tony could feel the warmth of Peter’s mouth. He wished he could feel more. The wetness. The texture. The movement of the boy’s tongue. Clearly the Mark 47, while older and rarely used, needed upgrading. But Peter didn’t need to know how much sensation he did or didn’t have in those fingers.

“Go on, Pete. I wanna feel that sweet mouth on my fingers.” Tony flexed his fingers that held onto Peter’s hips, without letting the movement be transmitted to the suit. Implying that he could feel on them what the kid was doing. Dammit… he _wanted_ to feel it. The fingers in his mouth retreated, only to be replaced by the nanotech covered fingers on Tony’s own hand as he reached up. “That’s it, baby. _Now_ I can feel you.”

“Mmmm?” Peter questioned, unable to speak (his mouth was full) but eager to please. Soon he realized that Tony’s fingers were in his mouth for a reason, and Tony had told him to suck. He obeyed.

The older Mark 42’s hands reached up to the juncture of Peter’s thighs and Peter tensed immediately, whimpering, his eyes going wide. He bit down on Tony’s fingers and began struggling again against the hands beneath the table, even when the hands began gently nudging his legs further apart. He knew what his lover wanted, it was _Tony_ dammit, what he wanted was obvious. But like the leg clamps, every movement toward his legs sent his body right back into fight mode.

“Shhh, baby. I have you. You’re being so good for me. Need you to relax though.That’s it, Pete. I know you can do it. For me.” Tony altered his stance. He fucked down and then in, scraping across Peter’s sweet spot.

Peter’s teeth let go of the fingers. He didn’t pull his mouth away. It hung slack as Tony fucked him thoroughly. He couldn’t move at all. He wasn’t sure he would ever move again. He wished he could speak — could tell Tony how incredible it felt now, with Tony’s cock hitting him right _there_. But he knew he’d never be able to speak (all he’d get out was “ohgodTony” anyway) so he did the only other thing he could think of. He took the fingers deep into his mouth, down to the knuckle, and began sucking again.

 _That_ was incredible. Tony groaned low in his throat as Peter’s tongue lapped at the underside of his two fingers in his mouth. It was like fucking the kid and having him go down on him at the same time.

“I can feel you… both places… the same in both.” Tony’s words broke into a moan as the dual sensations merged in the pleasure centers of his brain. “No difference, baby. Fuck,” Tony moaned with pleasure. “It gives me _everything_ about you.”

Peter was responding beautifully. His breathing was settled into regular panting, with small, little moans around Tony’s nanite covered fingers. The kid was enjoying himself, clearly. The build up nice and slow and regular. Tony could make him come that way. Hold out for a half an hour, letting Peter rise to a languid orgasm. Or he could do _that._

Tony broke his rhythm and fucked faster, irregularly, then he pushed in sharply, angled straight across the boy’s prostate.

Peter whimpered and forgot about the fingers in his mouth for a moment. Then remembered what Tony wanted, and began sucking once again.

Tony took his fingers out of Peter’s mouth. They were slick with spit and moved softly over the kid’s lips. Feeling the tender skin, tracing the line, touching the corners. He knew that the nanotech had the capability of transmitting far more sensation that he let through during the normal course of battle. He didn’t exactly want to _feel_ every hit he took. But he wanted to feel Peter. Every touch was like with his fingers, only… different in just enough of a way. Transmitted through a metal filter. He could feel the warmth of Peter’s skin _and_ the cool metal of his suit.

Fucking irregularly wasn’t _right_ enough to get either of them off. But the sounds that Peter made because he couldn’t anticipate what would happen next… those were more than satisfying. Little gasps. Sharp little yelps. Breathless ‘oh’. Never enough to fall into the more desperate ‘ohgodTony’ that Peter was so known for and always made Tony smile.

And then he stopped completely. Held halfway in. Leaving him wanting for either the sensation of being filled or entered.

Peter lay helpless on the table, eyes half closed, brain half-off, relaxing in the six hands that held him. He missed the fingers when they left his mouth, he loved the taste of them, so much like the metal around Tony’s arc reactor but different, but he didn’t move to get them back. Tony wanted to stroke his lips with his fingers now, so that’s what Peter wanted too.

But then something changed. It took him several seconds to register what it was. Tony was there, but he wasn’t moving. Peter tried moving backward, towards his lover’s body only to feel four metal hands and two hands of warm flesh holding him still.

Tony felt Peter try to push back. “Oh baby. Haven’t you figured it out by now?” The suit’s hands holding his upper thighs held Peter gently but firmly against the side of the table. “You’re not the one in control of your body this time. I am.”

He kept himself unmoving at that halfway point. “What do you want, Peter?” Tony asked.

Peter moaned. His eyes were wide now, no longer relaxed. The reminder of the suits, of what the suits could do to him (of what the suits _had done_ to him) was lighting up his brain like a Christmas tree. But he couldn’t speak. Just now he no longer remembered the English language.

“So what you’re saying, by not saying, is that you want me to pull out and finish across your back? Feel my come all hot on your skin?”

“NonononoTony…” That was good. Those were two words he remembered.

“Then tell me what you want, baby.”

“No Tony _please…_ ” he begged. Three words. Three words were probably the best he could do.

“You want me to just stop, let go of you, pull up my pants and wait until we’re in bed tonight to finish?”

“Nonono… no… Tony…” He was close to tears. He fought to breathe. He knew what he needed to keep breathing, and he managed to say it out loud.

“I need you to keep touching me.”

Tony took one hand off Peter’s hips and ran it up his back. “There, baby. I’m touching you,” he said, changing nothing else.

Peter could breathe again. Just like that. He closed his eyes and focused on Tony’s skin against his skin, focused on the sensation of Tony touching his body. As long as he had that, he could function.

“Is that all you want, Peter?”

Peter found himself nodding. This was good. If Tony was touching him, he could think again. He was an intelligent human being, and Tony’s lover for more than two years. He could express himself with this man. He could actually express himself rather well. They were good together. He took a deep, calming breath, and turned his head enough to look back into Tony’s face.

“I _need_ you to keep touching me. I _want_ you to keep fucking me.”

Tony ran his hands, both of them now, over Peter’s back, down his sides, over the rise of his ass. “You want me to keep fucking you?” he asked.

“Please, yes. It feels so good, Tony.”

Peter took another breath. “And I know it feels good to you too.”

 _“How,_ Peter?”

“Oh… just…” Peter tried to move his body to demonstrate, but encountered two pairs of unmovable hands. He didn’t let his body react this time, he forced himself to stay calm. He swallowed hard.

It was a difficult mental problem, and difficult mental problems didn’t come along often for Peter Parker. He took it as a challenge. One he was ready to meet.

“Slow and steady?”

That wasn’t good enough. He wriggled a bit underneath the suit’s hand, then tossed his head a little to move sweaty curls out of his eyes. It was all to better see Tony (but it was also to buy time, making it easy to speak.)

“I know what I really want. What I _really_ want is to know what _you_ want. But what _I_ want is slow and steady. Until I tell you to go faster. With your hands on my waist like you did. It feels amazing.”

“Yes it does feel amazing. Having you tight and hot around me,” Tony said. The suit’s hands on Peter’s legs slid down lower on his thighs, holding more comfortably. It was Tony’s hands on Peter’s waist that held him still.

“Just don’t let go…”

“Never,” he said as he returned to the long, slow strokes he’d been using before. Long, slow pressure inside of him.

“Promise.”

“Always, baby. Never letting go of you.”

“ _Your_ hands. I just need to feel _your_ hands.”

All six hands moved slightly on Peter’s skin. But the two that belonged to Tony soothed over Peter’s sides again, settling on his waist, his thumbs sliding across Peter’s back.

“Am I yours, Tony?”

“Peter, if you think I’d ever let you go… or even share you… not ever going to happen baby. Not ever. You’re mine. No getting out of that. Not gonna let you go.” Tony bent over Peter’s back and put a kiss just above where his thumbs met around Peter’s narrow waist.

“Say it again.”

Tony smiled as he slowly rocked into Peter. “You’re mine. But the question is, baby… Am I yours?”

“Oh _yes_ , yes. Let me move my hand… please?” He wiggled the fingers of his right hand, still firmly held down by the wrist.

“You can move your left hand.” He eased the hand that was pinning Peter down in between his shoulders over a little to the right, giving the boy more movement. “Both hands?” Tony said with a quirk of his eyebrow. “Greedy.” The Mark 47’s hand moved from Peter’s wrist to his forearm. “Now you can move your right _hand.”_

“But I want to touch you.”

“You can’t touch me with your left?”

Peter moved his left hand to grasp the suit by the wrist again, holding it solidly.

“That’s it, Pete. I can feel your hand on my wrist.” He kept his rhythm steady but only marginally increased his speed… before he’d been asked to.

“You’re going to come inside me, Tony,” Peter said dreamily, his eyes fluttering closed. “I want to hold you when you come inside me.”

“I will, you will. But not until you make my desk messy again.”

“NononoTony _don’t…_ ” Peter shuddered gooseflesh breaking out weakly on his arms and legs. He found himself almost sobbing at the idea. “I _can’t_ again…”

The suit let go of Peter’s right forearm and cupped underneath his head, tenderly lifting and turning the boy slightly to face him over his shoulder. Peter’s hand followed it, gripping it firmly at the wrist.

“You can. And I wanna see you when you do.” He bent over Peter’s back again and kissed him there. “I wanna watch those beautiful eyes flutter shut. Wanna watch them open again when it feels too good. Wanna watch those lips part and gasp. Wanna see that face blushed pink. Your hair fall into sweaty curls.”

As Tony spoke, he fucked a little harder, a little faster, a little more _directly_ on each word. “And then…” His hand replaced the suit’s hand in the middle of Peter’s back. “I wanna feel you clench around me… when you come.”

Peter let go of the suit’s wrist and wrapped his arm around his face, moaning and keening. The things Tony was saying would have made him come already but coming _twice_? This was difficult. He wasn’t sure he could, and he wasn’t sure what it would mean if he couldn’t.

The suit gently moved Peter’s arm from hiding his face. “Nuh uh, baby. Gotta see you. You didn’t hide last time, no hiding this time.”

“I _can’t_ Tony.” Peter lay his face against the table, not hiding, not moving.

“I’m so close… fuck Pete,” Tony gasped. The Mark 47’s hand slid from under Peter’s head and both hands gripped his shoulders, pinning Peter. “God, baby… you’re…” His words failed him. “You’re _everywhere.”_

Tony dropped his own hand underneath Peter and began stroking his cock. “You have me so close… so close… Be good for me, baby,” Tony moaned, his tone desperate. He struggled to speak. He was always able to _talk._ The patter he kept up, dirty or tender, during sex was his _thing._

Peter wanted to obey. Wanted it so badly. Tony’s hand felt so good, but he needed more. He turned his head weakly and looked back into his lover’s face.

“Does it feel good for you Tony?” he whispered, hating the breathless sound of his voice, speaking anyway. “Am I tight for you?”

His control faltered at the kid’s finding his voice as Tony lost his. But when Peter looked back at him, when he saw those eyes… his faltering control broke entirely. The hand he had on Peter’s hip tightened. As did the four hands controlled by his mind. Looking at Peter’s shoulders, he saw deep, dark purple-black bruises flower almost instantly. He let his grip on the boy’s hip lighten, and the suits’ followed, loosening just enough not to leave any more bruises.

In control of the suits again, he pulled back on Peter’s shoulders, moving him down further on his cock, buried all the way into his heat.

Peter screamed as he came, sobbing and shouting wordlessly, his throat straining. But he didn’t fight the hands. He was beyond fighting. He was helpless here. Completely helpless.

And, for the first time, that was all right.

They came as close together as two people could. Tony followed almost immediately when Peter cried out. He fell, stretched out across the kid’s back. Peter was still held by his four metal hands, but a warm metal circle pressed against his back. Peter could feel the hum of the arc reactor against his skin, its vibration faster and stronger than he’d ever felt it before.

“Oh, Peter,” Tony moaned, his breath warm across Peter’s back. “So good. My perfect… my perfect treasure… the most precious thing in my trophy case. Mine.” A soft kiss followed his breath. “Only mine. Always mine.”

Tony slowly stood, leaving a trail of kisses, on still broken breaths, down Peter’s back. His hands followed his lips, caressing, spread wide, with an easy pressure. Grounding. The Mark 42, now a little messy from Peter’s come dripping off the side of the table, stopped holding Peter’s legs. The hands slid slowly down them, gentling their way, until on reaching Peter’s ankles, they gave a tighter little hold, reminding him of where they’d started and why. Then they released him entirely.

The more skilled hands of the Mark 47 loosened but did not release Peter’s forearms. Tony stepped back just a little, sliding free from Peter, leaving a trail of his come running down the boy’s thigh.

“You were so good for me,” Tony said, with an awestruck tone. Peter had overwhelmed _his_ senses. “Speechless, Pete. You took away all my words. All my thoughts. All except for one. He bent over one more time, kissing the small of Peter’s back. “I love you. That thought _never_ leaves me.” The suit’s hands followed where Tony’s had been, stroking down Peter’s back, then up it to rest lightly across the back of his chest.

“I’m going to carry you to me.” Bending down, the suit lifted Peter into a bridal carry. Tony combed his fingers through Peter’s hair. His damp curls tangled around Tony’s fingers, as he eased his head to rest on the suit’s chest. He wasn’t ready to let go yet. He still needed to touch his boy. He let his hand drop from Peter’s head, trailing over his shoulder, down his arm, to his hand, to his fingertips, then finally leaving him. “It’s all right, Pete. I’m here. I’m bringing you with me.”

Peter’s eyes went wide when the suit gathered him up in iron arms. His breath was shaky and he trembled slightly. He moaned a little when Tony’s real touch stopped, but Tony’s words were still there. And he knew what came next. The thing he needed. It always came next.

Tony sat cross-legged on the sofa, missing Peter even though he could still feel the weight of the boy, through the suit, on his arms. Gently, the suit lowered Peter into Tony’s waiting lap. “There, baby. I have you. _I_ have you.”

Tony held Peter a little tighter than usual. Closer than usual. More skin touching more skin. He felt Peter’s trembling, catching breaths, right on the edge of sobs.

He reached up and soothed the boy’s head into the crook of his neck. “It’s okay, Peter. It’s okay. I’m here.”

He curled Peter’s body against him. Tony pressed a lingering, tender kiss on the curve of his shoulder. He kissed each place where there were still dark purple-black marks. Not healed. Not healing.

He full-body shuddered against Peter and Tony closed his eyes. His breath caught and held. He could’ve hurt the boy. Seriously hurt him. Broken bones, torn skin. Peter would eventually heal those bruises, but Tony could’ve _hurt_ him. Speechless, overwhelmed, farther gone than he’d ever been in his life, in his hands, even in his suit’s hands, he held the most precious in the world. And he could’ve hurt him.

“It’s okay, Peter. You’re safe,” he said, more trying to convince himself. Trying desperately to reassure himself that he had only bruised, not broken. “I’ll always keep you safe.” He could keep Peter safe from anything. Anything except himself. “Right here. With me. Mine. You’re so good. So precious. Everything, baby. All of you.”

Peter took deep, gulping breaths and waited for his tears to pass. They usually did quickly, when he didn’t fight to hide them, and he never tried to hide them from Tony anymore. Tony had explained from the beginning that the tears were okay, and there had always been a few after sex like this. Peter pressed his face into Tony’s neck and took another deep breath.

Then he wrapped his arms around Tony’s neck and sobbed.

Tony kissed the side of Peter’s head. “‘S okay, baby,” he said softly. “I want you right here. With me. Like this. Don’t want to let you go. Not yet. Not for a long time.” He took a deep breath and let it out with a whisper. “I need you, Peter. I need… _I_ need to hold you.”

He pulled one knee up to support Peter’s back, to hold him close, Peter almost laying on his side in Tony’s arms, their chests almost touching. He held Peter as long as the boy needed. As long as _he_ needed. Which was a very long time this time. He muttered soothing words, almost nonsense words, but he knew how much the sound of his voice helped Peter to calm. And this time, having lost his words, he needed to hear the sound of his own voice. To know that he was taking care of the boy. He _had_ to take care of him.

It seemed the more Peter calmed, the less Tony did. His lips couldn’t hardly leave the boy’s shoulder. His cheek rested there. He looked at darkened spots against pale skin.

Peter’s arms were relaxed around Tony’s chest. His breaths even, his body was no longer wracked with sobs. He started to press kisses into Tony’s neck, moving a little away from his hiding place and resting against Tony’s shoulder. When he spoke, it was only a hoarse whisper.

“I’ve never… no one’s ever…” There was no way to finish the sentence. It wasn’t that no one had ever fucked him before (Tony knew that very well) but there had never been anyone who _could_ have fucked him that way. Could have taken him apart that way. Could have made him give up control that way. There had never been anyone who had made him even _dream_ of the things he had felt this night.

“Tony, I’ve never come that hard in my life.”

Tony held tighter as Peter tried to move away. He should’ve answered that, he knew. Instead he put five more kisses to Peter’s shoulder, in a very specific pattern. Then Tony rested his cheek against Peter’s cool skin. Peter felt Tony’s breaths become fast and caught, broken, shuddering. He felt wetness where Tony’s lips weren’t. He felt tears.

Peter was planning on asking Tony to carry him into the shower, something he hadn’t needed in a long time, but now the sound caught his attention and he found his spine straightening. He unwrapped his arms from around Tony’s neck and slipped his left around the man’s chest, the other around his head. He squeezed tightly for a moment, then relaxed. With his left arm he kept Tony firmly pressed against him and used his right hand to comb his fingers through Tony’s hair. He didn’t know what to say, so he waited.

“I hurt you,” Tony said when he could finally speak.

 _“No!_ No, it wasn’t that. It never hurts. It feels weird sometimes but it never _hurts._ I’m sorry I cried, it was just… it was a lot.”

“Baby, no.” When Tony leaned back to look into Peter’s face, his eyes were glistening. “I… marked you. I bruised you. I hurt… I nearly…” He shuddered again.

Peter’s brow knotted in confusion, both at the tears in Tony’s eyes (had he ever seen _that_ before?) and the idea of being marked… he had been _marked?_ He let go of Tony suddenly and reached to his shoulder, then to his back, trying to find the bruises Tony seemed to think were there.

“Marked… _did_ you?”

“Bruises,” he said, very gently curving his fingers around Peter’s shoulder where he’d left the marks. “I could have…” Tony closed his eyes. “I might’ve…”

“Marked me? Oh Tony…” He cupped Tony’s face in his hand and brought their faces close together.

“I’ve wanted you to mark me for _so long_.”

“No baby, you don’t understand. With the suit… You heal from anything… _maybe._ I could’ve… pulled you _apart.”_

Peter smiled a little and touched his forehead to Tony’s. He put his hand on Tony’s shoulder, fingering the place where his own fingertip-bruises usually landed. They weren’t there now, of course. It had been a while since Tony had made him come _that_ way, and he was more likely to leave dents in the headboard now than leave dents in Tony. He had _hated_ them in the beginning, detested them. They were a mark of pride for Tony, but to Peter they were nothing but stomach-knotting. He wanted to see bruises on himself, of course, but never on his lover.

He remembered what it was like, hearing ‘I trust you’ over and over again when he didn’t yet trust himself. He decided not to take the same route.

Wrapping his arms around his lover again he held him close. “Okay. You could have pulled me apart. Maybe. Except you stopped every other time I needed you to, so it’s hard to believe you wouldn’t have stopped then, too. But if you left bruises, I didn’t notice. I didn’t ask you to stop. I was too busy coming my brains out.”

Tony shook his head. “I wasn’t in _conscious_ control. Not of me. Not of _them._ It wouldn’t have mattered if you asked.” He looked at Peter’s shoulder again.

“Okay. But how many times I told you I was _scared_ of hurting you, and you just told me over and over that you trusted me? Now I’m not allowed to trust you?”

Peter still had tears on his face, but now he looked into Tony’s face and smiled.

“Maybe you could have hurt me. Well, tech-genius, you’ll _have_ to tech-genius yourself out of that one. Program failsafes into the sex suits. Call it the ‘suit sex’ protocol, or the ‘gang-bang program’ or ‘date-night’ or _something_.

“Because you _**are** doing that to me again._”

Tony nodded. Peter’s words took the fear and worry and replaced it with something he could actually _do._ A tech solution. He was good at that. There wasn’t a problem he couldn’t tech his way out of.

“I had to do that with my nightmares. Create something that could tell when I was asleep. The implants could monitor my brain waves to tell the difference between my sleep/wake cycles. I just need a way to tell when I’ve lost conscious control while awake. I’m sure there’s some definable physiological response.”

He lifted Peter in _his_ arms, kissed him on the lips, and carried him to the shower that was just off the lab.

“That _can_ happen again. I want it to happen again. Just not before I’ve made a few upgrades to the sensors,” he said with a smile. “The older suits don’t have _near_ enough of them.”

He let Peter down to stand on his feet. He turned him to face the mirror. On each of his shoulders were four dark purple oval marks with faint purple lines curving over the top. Tony turned Peter again and on his back were two thumb prints.

It wasn’t the marks themselves that Tony found so troubling. It was where they were. How they were placed. Peter liked to think that he was stronger than anything. But with the suit, he could have hurt Peter gravely. They both might want sex-with-suits to happen again, but it couldn’t happen until Tony had objectively tested protective protocols in place.

Peter was moaning and twisted his body around and around to get a better look. He fingered them over and over again, sometimes gazing at them in wonder, sometimes grinning from ear to ear. Finally he broke off to wrap his arms around Tony and pull him into a crushing hug. He was almost in tears again. “You _marked_ me. You _did_. You finally did. I have bruises… oh _god_ but they won’t last! Can I take pictures?”

Tony could see how happy it made Peter being able to be bruised by him in the same way as he bruised Tony. It made sense. And he had to admit, it appealed to his possessive side.

“Of course. I’d expect nothing less than a selfie from a millennial. Just keep it off of Instagram, huh?” Tony said with a smile.

**Author's Note:**

> You can't leave more kudos, so leave a <3 as a 2nd one.
> 
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> 
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> Witchway's Starker blog on tumblr is [thestarkerisobvious](https://thestarkerisobvious.tumblr.com/).  
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